Chapter 4 - The Cottage Behind the Stables
The rain had stopped entirely by mid-afternoon, leaving behind a heavy, dripping fog that rolled off the river and swallowed the lower lawns of the estate.
Adrian walked down the gravel path toward the stables alone. He didn't take an umbrella, and he didn't wear a coat, letting the damp chill seep into his wool suit.
The stable cottage was a small, whitewashed brick building with a slate roof that had once housed the head groom back when the estate still kept thoroughbreds instead of armored security vehicles. Now, a single pair of small red rain boots sat neatly on the concrete step outside the wooden front door.
Adrian raised his knuckles and rapped twice against the wood.
The door opened almost immediately.
Maya stood in the doorway, wearing a simple gray sweater and jeans, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. When she saw Adrian standing on the step, her whole body stiffened. She instinctively took a half-step back, pulling the door slightly closer as if to shield the interior.
“Mr. Vale,” she said, her voice tight with apprehension. “I thought... I thought you were going to have us packed out by noon.”
“I changed my mind,” Adrian said.
Maya blinked, her dark eyes searching his face for any sign of a trap. “You... changed your mind? About firing us?”
“You aren't fired,” Adrian said, stepping past her without waiting for an invitation into the small, warm living room.
The cottage was impossibly clean, smelling faintly of laundry detergent, toasted bread, and baby shampoo. A small table in the corner held a box of crayons and a half-finished coloring book. On the small sofa sat the grey stuffed rabbit with the missing button eye.
Ellie was sitting on the floor by the radiator, building a tower out of wooden blocks. When she saw Adrian enter, her face lit up with an uninhibited, radiant smile that felt entirely out of place in a world governed by men like Adrian Vale.
“Uncle Adrian!” she chirped, standing up and running over to grab the hem of his trousers. “I built a castle. It has a very tall tower.”
Adrian looked down at her. He didn't smile—he had nearly forgotten how—but the rigid tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. He crouched down, placing one large hand on the floor beside her wooden blocks.
“Does the castle have a gate?” Adrian asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
“Yes,” Ellie said seriously, pointing a small finger at the structure. “And a big dragon lives in the back, but he’s a friendly dragon. He likes music.”
Maya hurried into the room, wringing her hands in her apron. “Mr. Vale, please, I told her not to bother you again—she doesn't understand boundaries, she’s only three—if you want us to leave right now, I have our bags packed by the door—”
“Maya,” Adrian said, standing up and turning to face her.
She stopped talking. There was something in his eyes—not the cold, predatory glare he directed at his rivals or the suspicious squint he had given Julian, but something heavy, tired, and profoundly searching.
“How long have you worked on this estate?” Adrian asked.
“Six months, sir. Like I told Mr. Vance.”
“And before that?”
“Working the night shift at the laundry plant downtown. Before that, my husband and I lived in Richmond until the accident.”
Adrian walked slowly toward the small kitchen counter, where a single ceramic mug sat beside an open notebook. He looked down at the notebook. It wasn't a grocery list or a budget ledger.
It was covered in handwritten musical notation.
Not professional sheet music—awkward, hastily scribbled notes written in pencil, with bars crossed out and rewritten over and over again.
Adrian’s breath caught in his throat. He reached out and picked up the notebook.
“Where did this come from?” he asked, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
Maya rushed over, her face flushing crimson with embarrassment and sudden panic. She snatched the notebook out of his hand, clutching it defensively against her chest.
“It’s nothing,” she stammered, looking away. “Just... scribbles. I didn't mean to take anything from the big house, I swear to God, I found a stack of old music paper in the trash bin near the study three months ago when I was helping Mrs. Rose clear out the old storage boxes—I thought nobody wanted it—!”
“You wrote this?” Adrian interrupted, staring at her with fierce intensity.
Maya looked down at the floor, biting her lower lip. “I... I used to play piano when I was a kid. My mother had an old upright before she passed. When I’m putting Ellie to sleep at night, sometimes I hum melodies I remember, or ones I make up in my head. I didn't mean to play Mrs. Vale’s song, Mr. Vale. I swear I never heard it before last night. I was just... humming a tune while I was folding laundry in the hallway near the music room last week, and Ellie must have picked it up—”
She stopped. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, terrified that her excuse sounded like a lie.
Adrian didn't accuse her of lying.
Because as he looked at the notebook in her hands, and then down at Ellie, who was happily stacking another wooden block, a chilling realization settled over him.
Maya hadn't stolen Serena’s song.
She had independently stumbled upon the exact same musical phrasing, the exact same harmonic progression, because both of them—Serena and Maya—shared something Adrian had spent years trying to wall off from the world: an instinct for creation that couldn't be locked behind a brass padlock.
And yet, that didn't explain how the padlock had been opened.
If Maya hadn't opened it, and Ellie had merely wandered in through an unlatched door...
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Then someone else had wanted that room opened.
Someone who knew what was hidden inside.
